Sol, The Witch and The dragon of Esmeltar

Chapter 1

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. Like most of Treacle village, Sol Bradley Francis hadn’t believed in their existence. Sol knew only the children in Ms Park's second-hand book shop who spoke of dragons. Them and the old witch.

The village called her a witch because she dressed in long black robes. She bought strange ingredients from the market and spoke in archaic incantations. Complete with a large wart on the end of a pointed nose. A witch was much more believable to the village than a dragon. You see Treacle had a long history of witch-burning frowned upon by the larger populace. Now only Embers of conspiracy still flickered in the periphery.

The witch's sporadic outbursts of dragon rhetoric intercut her long hikes. Treacle's cobbled streets filled with the buzz of gossip as she walked. Her secrets whispered to the one-foot tall dragon statue she carried. She wandered to and from her little hovel in the valley hills. Sol never talked to her. Sol kept a wide birth and averted his eyes each morning on the way to market. She had walked that walk for Sol’s forty-three years. For all his forty-three years, he had lived in Treacle.

On the first Friday of September nineteen-ninety, Sol found that he had one day to live. It was an overcast and miserable day before he even found out the news. He was running late to see Doctor Salazar. It was his insomnia that was the means for his appointment but also for being late.

His last day to live was not, as one might expect, a growth found in his brain like his Mother. Nor a horrific gorging of the abdomen like his late hunting enthusiast grandfather. For he had not even reached his Doctor to find out such news. It was instead from the witch that the news came.

It was only by accident that he cut off the witch in her stupor. He tripped, half asleep, into the witch and knocked her to the ground. Sol had no particular sympathy for witches but was a polite man. He was ever so apologetic and made sure to help her up and reassure her all was okay. Sol lifted her and saw the smashed remains of the dragon statue. Its ceramic wings in pieces scattered across the cobbles. She wailed and cheered like a child over a lost toy.

Now Sol was very sorry, very sorry indeed. Sol could imagine a distressing scenario where he would be as hysterical. He had quite a few succulents that sat upon the window seal of his townhouse. The thought of one broken like the dragon was distressing for Sol. Sol would’ve wept If something happened to Brasil, the eldest of his succulents. Even so, this was dramatic.

For the first time in Sol’s forty-three years, she spoke to him. Not under her breath but direct and unavoidable.

“Look what you have done,” She cackled her words out like a sinister laugh.

“I'm sorry ma'am, It was an accident,” Sol's voice flutters with nerves.

“Be sorry to thyself you tall idiot. For ye have saved me and I thank the, but for all the heroism ye has doomed thyself.”

“I do say, Witch, that I am at fault but don't you think you are being a bit dramatic?”

“Stupid man, for I am free and giddy and you are bound to the Dragon for as long ye wishes to keep their life and live only then for one more day forevermore.”

She leapt up with new vigour and skipped like a hare through the streets. She sang some old rhythm and rhyme in a voice almost pleasant.

Sol noticed movement in what should have been inanimate. The ceramic pieces melted and shifted in their place. Sol questioned if his insomnia had evolved into something much worse. The statue reformed into itself imperceptible from new. Tiny compared to the height of Sol as he circled it. The eyes that were so empty before burned a hellish fire. A fire that felt hot on his now flushed cheeks.

“Lowly mortal thou has now come to meet the First and Last of Dragons in the Great Valley of Esmeltar. I have had many names in the eternity of my existence, most feared of all, that of Balagos. But ye are not worthy of such titles and instead shall address me as Master, and only shall the address as Master be an affirmation of an understanding of the said command. Otherwise, the correct state of being is that in silence. Does though understand?”

The voice echoed as a deep rumble and rattled through Sol’s mind. He spun on the spot. Had his mind lost control? There was no person or creature around. Misdiagnosed schizophrenia presenting as insomnia or a horrific parasite of the brain? Sol’s concern grew as he had seen Doctor Salazar for many years. What else had the Doctor missed? Sol made a mental note to change doctors.

The voice returned to Sol’s head more forceful. “ DOES THE INSOLENT HUMAN UNDERSTAND?” Sol didn’t understand.

“I understand,” Sol muttered under his breath so as not to draw any attention. Disagreeing would not end well. Sol concluded that he would need to seek help with caution.

“One does not for they forget the one condition of their speaking which is that to address me as master.”

“Sorry, Master. I understand, Master”

“That is better. Now to business. I needeth a whole hog for it is a cold time of the year and I am hungry.”